Tryouts
by Lilith Demodae
Summary: Finch wants to save more numbers, but for that he's going to need more help.


**A/N:** I don't own Person of Interest, I just love it.

* * *

Tryouts

"Mr. Sutter, I'm worried about my friend, Harold. I really need you to keep an eye on him for me."

…

"Mr. Kennedy, I'm worried about my friend, Harold. I really need you to keep an eye on him for me."

…

"Mr. Simms, I'm worried about my friend, Harold. I really need you to keep an eye on him for me."

…

"Ms. Kelly, I'm worried about my friend, Harold. I really need you to keep an eye on him for me."

"Look, officer-"

Carter eyed the woman across the desk from her. Dark blond hair was pulled back into a knot behind her right ear and she wore no makeup. Her clothing was strictly business, sharply creased grey slacks and a stylish white blouse. She was a couple inches taller than Carter, but with a similar curvy figure. The information Finch had passed along said she was thirty-seven, never married, parents died years ago and she'd finished the job of raising her younger sister herself. She was also perceptive as hell because Carter had never mentioned being a police officer. "Why did you call me that?"

"You took off your sidearm before you came in here, but you move like it's still there, and if that isn't a badge wallet in the inside pocket of your jacket, I'll eat whatever it really is." Archer Kelly kept her hands folded on the desk, still as a cat waiting to pounce. "And if you're so worried about your friend, why don't you do something about it?"

Carter grimaced outwardly, but inwardly she gave a little cheer. This was only the second one who'd spotted she was a cop. John would be insufferable about it, too. He'd warned Carter to leave her badge in the car with her weapon. "It's detective, not officer, and if you know that much you also know there's a limit to what I can do to protect my friend. He's been under a lot of strain, but he won't talk to me. I know you used to work for Interpol. You're an investigator. So investigate Harold."

"You have excellent sources. Those files are supposed to be sealed."

Carter noted there was no fear or apprehension in Archer's tone, not even rebuke, just respect for what Carter had accomplished. "It helps when people with access owe you favors. Look, I can get you as close to Harold as you could wish. I'll even set you up on a blind date with him."

Ms. Kelly's blue eyes widened at that. "Am I even remotely his type?"

"Can you do quiet and bookish?"

Ms. Kelly sighed. "I really don't think I'm the person for this job, detective. However, I can recommend several very competent security services that I've had contact with-"

"I don't want merely competent. Harold is very important to me. And even if you can't do bookish, maybe it'll make a nice change. You don't have to keep dating him, after all. And I'll double your usual fee."

"The money isn't the point. If you're worried about his safety, a bodyguard is the way to go. If you're worried about his sanity, then I also know a therapist or two that I could recommend."

Carter couldn't help but notice the bare spots in the carpeting, the cracked glass in the door when she'd entered the little office. This was not a high rent building, and Ms. Kelly didn't even have an old desktop computer. If money wouldn't motivate her that was a point in her favor, and made Joss even more determined to hire her.

"Ms. Kelly, please. Harold won't accept that kind of help right now. What I really need is someone he won't see, someone to help him who is hiding in plain sight. Please."

There was a long silence as the two women stared at each other across a cheap plywood desk in a chilly two room office, and then Archer Kelly nodded.

"Very well, detective…"

"Carter, Joss Carter."

"I'll look into your friend, see if I can figure out what's bothering him. Go ahead and set up that date. It'll give me a chance to chat with him, see if I can spot this stress myself."

"Thank you, Ms. Kelly. Thank you."

The other woman waved this away. "Don't thank me yet. Your friend is in exactly the same spot he was when you walked in here."

"No, he's not. He's got one more person watching out for him."

* * *

It turned out that Harold Jay was short, walked with a limp and a stiffness that indicated some sort of significant physical trauma in the past, and watched the world from behind thick glasses. He was indeed bookish, in a fussy, adorable sort of way. He wore a three-piece suit, complete with pocket square, but the ease with which he wore it indicated it wasn't just a pretention. Archer trailed him for a day, watching him travel from home in a slightly shabby, but respectable neighborhood, to work and back again. He was painstakingly polite to all his coworkers and appeared to be quite good at his job. The whole time she saw no sign at all of the strain detective Carter had said was there, but that just meant he might be good at compartmentalizing.

She arrived at the restaurant for their 'blind' date a calculated five minutes late. The outfit was one of the few things left over from her last long stay in England, a tweed pencil skirt and blazer over a pale pink blouse. She'd decided not to wear a blouse with a ruffled front. Since she wasn't actually the bookish type there was no point in pushing the appearance that far. Her dark blond hair was curled and pulled back from her face with a pair of combs, and she'd applied enough makeup to make it clear she was making an effort, without using so much as to be obviously trying too hard to impress.

The maître'd nodded when she arrived and informed her that the rest of her party had already been seated. He led her between the tables draped with snowy linens, surrounded by the gentle clink of cutlery on china. When Harold spotted their approach he hurried to his feet to greet her, extending his hand to take hers. Instead of shaking it, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Ms. Kelly? It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you. Please, call me Archer."

The attentive maître'd seated her and Harold returned to his chair across from her. Tonight his pocket square was a satiny green. He seemed a touch anxious, but a blind date would do that to anyone. Speaking of which, she had to find a way to get him to relax a little.

"Blind dates are a bit nerve wracking, so can we pretend this is some sort of business meeting? This could be a pleasant working dinner while we sort out a few delicate details."

The pleased smile he shot her told her this was just the right tack. Business was comfortable for him, and he nodded. "I believe that would indeed make this a little less awkward. I must say my friends seem to think I would be better off with some sort of companion in my life. This is simply the most recent in a long series of meetings they have arranged for me. I'm afraid I'm becoming all too familiar with them."

"They sound like they care about you a lot, to go to all that trouble to try and make you happy."

"I-" She'd caught him off-guard with that remark. He was almost uncomfortable with the thought. "You are probably right, though I had not considered it in quite that way."

Archer smiled widely. "No, I imagine you were mostly caught up in the frustration of an endless parade of blind dates."

"Something like that, yes." He definitely wasn't her type, but Harold was sweet. He had a precise way of speaking that was endearing, rather than aloof or pretentious. Surely someone before her had noticed? But then, this wasn't a real blind date. She reminded herself of that while Harold gave her a tentative grin.

"Are you, by any chance, much of a reader, Ms. K- Archer?" He corrected himself when she shot him a reproving look.

"Constantly. Especially now, with more and more audiobooks becoming available all the time. I like to keep active, and audiobooks allow me to devour books without becoming sedentary."

"I love books. I have quite a collection." Collection. That meant expensive, which in the book world meant old and, more often than not, first editions. "Who are your favorite authors?"

"I get the feeling, Harold, that our reading preferences are unlikely to overlap all that much. Right now, I would drop any other book I was reading if someone handed me something written by Sir Terry."

"Sir Terry?" Harold rolled the words over, obviously thinking hard. "I don't believe that I am familiar with any of his works."

Archer laughed. "I honestly didn't expect you to be."

They chatted pleasantly until a waiter arrived, and Archer asked Harold to suggest what she order. Her usual restaurant style was takeout or buffet and without the doubling of her fee that the detective had offered, she certainly wouldn't be able to afford this meal. Harold didn't even need to consult the menu, but offered an immediate suggestion. At her accepting nod, the waiter smiled at them both and slipped away, to be replaced by the wine steward.

Behind Harold and to his left, a dark haired man was keeping an eye on them. Archer turned her head to keep him in her peripheral vision, while not seeming to look at him. He was relaxed, totally at ease with this environment, left hand dominant, wearing a suit, no tie, collar open. And while the man looked at her occasionally, it was Harold he was really watching.

When the man rose from his chair and straightened his jacket, Archer knew he was going to approach their table. He'd been waiting for Harold to relax, to start to enjoy himself. He stopped just behind Harold's shoulder, which would force the smaller man to twist awkwardly to see him. Her 'date's' old injury had done something that forced his whole back and neck to move like they had been made from a single piece of steel. This man knew that and was rubbing it in Harold's face.

"Harold, how nice to see you. Who is your lovely friend?"

Harold, for his part, actually jolted at the sound of that low, velvety voice. It was the sort of voice that could read a phonebook or a grocery list and still sound terribly sexy. He knew it, too. The man had the gall to leer at her over Harold's shoulder.

"Mr. Reese." Harold's voice was tight, the words clipped. Archer watched Harold's hand close around the knife in his place setting. It wasn't a dull bread and butter knife, but a wonderfully pointy and sharp implement clearly intended for cutting things quickly and efficiently. Thankfully he'd have to reach across his body to do anything with it, which gave her time to diffuse the situation.

Archer slipped a foot out of her shoe and ran her toes up Harold's leg even as she held out her hand to tall, dark, and irritating. Harold's shocked expression was almost comical, but he let go of the knife before he could do anything stupid with it. Mr. Reese stepped past Harold to take her offered right hand with his left, not to shake it, but, as she'd suspected he might, to raise it to his lips. He'd probably say something in French, too. She didn't give him the chance. She hated French.

"Hi."

She smiled up at him. As soon as his hand gently gripped hers, she grabbed hold of the last two fingers of his hand and twisted his whole arm firmly, forcing the elbow to bend. She tugged, pulling him closer, then shoved hard and let go. He was sent sprawling, clearly surprised.

"I'm not interested."

Heads turned, voices stilled. A waiter hurried forward to help Mr. Reese to his feet, though the man was already standing by the time the waiter arrived. He turned without another word, his face a blank mask, and left.

She turned back to Harold, whose mouth was hanging open, eyes wide behind the thick lenses. She gave his leg one last stroke with her toes, then returned her foot to her shoe.

"Now, where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"I-uh, I think I was babbling about Lord Tennyson and you had countered that you preferred Kipling. I-" He turned stiffly to look in the direction Mr. Reese disappeared. The taller man had not returned to his table, but had simply left. Harold looked… she wasn't sure what all the emotions crossing his face were. There were quite a lot of them. "What exactly did you say you do, Archer?"

"I used to be in law enforcement, Harold." She smiled reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, I've seen his type dozens of times before. He'll go nurse his bruised ego and leave us alone for the rest of the night." She didn't mention that Mr. Reese's type often waited until later to exact their revenge, lurking until their target was vulnerable. She'd keep watching over Harold, just in case. He deserved a chance to enjoy the rest of his evening as best he could.

Harold paid for their dinners and they shared a taxi home. The driver dropped off Harold first, at her insistence under the pretense of it being the closer of the two. He paid the driver enough to cover her fare as well as a generous tip and then gave him a firm injunction to wait until Archer was actually inside her building and safe before he left. She rewarded Harold for his chivalry with a soft kiss pressed to his temple, which caused him to blush across his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

She could see why Detective Carter was so protective. He was kind, intelligent, solicitous, and a bit shy.

When she got home the first thing she did was call the detective, who answered immediately.

"Carter."

"Detective, this is Archer Kelly. Who is Mr. Reese?"

Her answer was a sigh. "John Reese is a jerk and a bully. Tell me he didn't crash your date."

"He certainly tried. I sent him packing, but I don't for a moment think he's done harassing Harold. This had the feel of a well-established pattern of behavior. How many of Harold's previous dates has he interrupted?"

"More than half." The detective paused for a beat or two before continuing. "Do you think Harold's in danger?"

"I'm not sure. You were right, though. A normal bodyguard wouldn't have been able to stop what happened tonight. It was more emotional harassment and mind games than actual danger. Okay, Detective, I'll keep an eye on him and keep you posted."

Archer hung up and prepared for bed. That Reese character was dangerous. It radiated off him like heat waves in the desert. If he was making a career out of ruining Harold's private life he wasn't going to stop just because one of Harold's dates had made him look bad. In fact, it was likely to make him even more vicious and cruel until his ego stopped smarting.

* * *

The next morning Archer followed Harold to work again. In a crisp grey dress suit and white blouse she blended right in with the business crowds. Harold came out at lunch time and ate a solitary meal in the small park just down the street from the building where he worked. He threw bread crumbs to the birds and squirrels when he thought no one was looking.

Archer browsed the newspaper while watching him. This time there were only three letters to the editor concerning 'the man in a suit', who was quickly becoming an urban legend, real or not. More than one person had come to her office in the last few months hoping to hire 'the man in a suit', only to be disappointed that she wasn't a man, in a suit or otherwise. Popular opinion was that he was some sort of private investigator, hence the people making the rounds of the PI offices in the city.

After work Harold went straight home.

Sitting in her car across the street, she watched through the partially open blinds of his living room window as he prepared a simple meal and sat down to read. He had a television, but never spared it so much as a glance. She listened to Nigel Planer read _Guards, Guards_ in one ear, and with the other she listened as the street sounds slowed with the coming of night. And still she watched Harold read.

About ten-thirty Harold got a phone call. She had no idea what was said. Archer didn't have the resources to tap phones, not any more. As soon as the call ended, though, Harold got his coat and limped out his door. She waited for him to get half way down the street before she left her car and followed.

Harold moved at his swiftest comfortable pace down the streets. He knew the restaurant Mr. Reese and Zoe had left and he knew where they were heading. He liked to switch up where he intercepted them for variety. It also helped them all stay in character. He could hear John and Zoe talking quietly of nothing much over John's ear piece; a low laugh, a soft giggle. Detective Carter's voice came less frequently.

"Is she still there, Detective?"

"Clinging to you like a burr, Finch. I'm surprised you can't hear her heels clicking."

"We expected her to be good, Detective."

"_I'm_ good. _She_ reminds me of John."

"And that is the entire point of this exercise."

"And how many more times do you think we'll have to do this?"

"I have a feeling that this will be the last time." And that was just as well. After a year of exposure to John Reese and his easy way with lies and acting, Harold's own skills in that area had improved considerably, but he still wasn't all that comfortable with being the one doing the lion's share of the interaction with their potential assets. John was the one who had compiled their short list of candidates, but he had been adamant that he couldn't realistically play the part they had come up with. So it had to be Harold or Fusco.

After the first attempt, it had been Harold.

Harold saw John and Zoe as they walked along the sidewalk chatting. He stepped into a shadowed doorway and watched them. He brought the story they'd come up with into his mind. The anger and helplessness and desperation the story called for were easy to summon, and he gave them free rein. His right hand lightly touched his pocket and the heavy lump in it.

Carter's voice barely registered as she spoke urgently.

"I've lost her."

Harold's hand slipped into his pocket, eyes still locked on John and Zoe.

"Finch, I lost her. John?"

"Sit tight, Carter. He'll be fine. Kelly's not the shoot first type."

John leaned in to whisper something to Zoe and she laughed, low and delighted. Harold's hand closed on the gun and an arm wrapped around his waist.

Archer Kelly was pressed up close to his side, her body pinning his right arm between them.

"Don't do this, Harold."

"Do you have any idea what he's done? What he still might do?"

"I don't, but I'll find out. I suspect it has something to do with the accident that wrecked your leg and damaged your spine."

Harold looked at her in surprise. He'd added that little fact to the story in his own mind, but he hadn't mentioned that private embellishment to even John. "How could you possibly know that?"

"I'm good at people, Harold. You used to be friends, that's plain to see. And then something happened. Directly or indirectly, he was the cause of your injury. Your limp gets worse when he's around, or when you're thinking about him, like he's salt in the wounds. Now he steals your chances at happiness and you want to wipe his existence from your mind.

"I know you can't forget him, Harold, but leave him to me. I'll dig and I'll watch and I'll get the proof for you, Harold, but don't do this. Don't ruin your life over this. You don't deserve that kind of guilt."

Her voice held a sympathetic tone and told him she knew all about guilt. They stood together and watched as John and Zoe walked on and disappeared out of view past the building on the corner. Archer slipped the gun out of Harold's pocket and into her own.

"Is she safe with him, or do I need to follow him and rescue her?"

Harold smiled at her protective instinct. John had been right about her. He turned with a small smile. "She is perfectly safe, Ms. Kelly. John and Zoe have done this a dozen times now. I'd like to congratulate you. You are the first person who spotted the danger and prevented murder."

She stepped away from him, eyes narrow. "Are you saying this was some kind of twisted test?"

"I prefer to think of it as an unsolicited job interview. Please, walk with me." She shot him a wary look before stepping up beside him as he turned and began walking back the way he had come. "I have read your entire Interpol file, even the parts that would normally have been redacted. I know about your firearms proficiency. I know about the undercover work you've done. I know about the ones that got away and the ones you couldn't save."

Archer remained perfectly silent, perhaps waiting for him to get to the point.

"What if I could give you the name of someone who was in trouble, before the trigger gets pulled? What if you could get there in time and stop bad things from happening?"

"What about your panther in wolf's clothing? Or should I call him 'the man in a suit'?"

"Mr. Reese?" Harold was pleased that she'd re-sorted all the connections so quickly once she had the necessary information. "Believe me, I keep him busy. The good detective helps us out when we need it, as well. The trick is that the intelligence I receive isn't just for New York City. It isn't even just for New York State. I get names, or more accurately numbers, from across the country. I simply don't have the ability to be in more than one place at a time. And that is where you could come in."

She walked beside him quietly, hopefully thinking over his offer, though he wasn't entirely certain. Her blank expression was as good a mask as John's.

"You know about my sister, then." It wasn't a question.

"Of course."

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many lives have you saved that the police and courts couldn't, or wouldn't? A group this slick doesn't come together over night."

"I'm not sure I could give you an accurate number on that. We saved a man who was in trouble and he turned out to be the rising star of organized crime. We caught up with him later, but how many people died who didn't need to because we intervened? There's no way to know."

"What you do isn't exactly legal." Again, it wasn't a question.

"Not exactly, no. Nor is it safe. Mr. Reese has been shot several times now and you could probably write an entire medical journal detailing the various cuts and contusions he's received since coming to work for me."

"Hell of a sales pitch you've got there, Mr. Jay."

"At least you didn't zip-cuff her to a hotel bed," John observed drily in his ear. Harold's lips twitched, but he tapped the earpiece and turned it off anyway.

"It's Finch, actually," he told Archer. "I promised John I would never lie to him. I'll make you the same promise. The data I get and pass along to you may be incomplete, but it will _never_ be wrong."

They walked together in silence for a time. Finch was content to let her ponder on the implications. No doubt John had already ditched Zoe and was even then returning to watch over him from the shadows, but Finch knew there was no need.

"I assume you'll want me to move out of New York."

"Will that be a problem?"

She sighed. "No, it won't. But you knew that before Detective Carter even walked into my office."

"Do you have any preference in where you'd like to go?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Then might I suggest Northern California?"

"San Francisco?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of San Jose."

"So I'll be 'the woman in a suit'?"

"The suit is entirely optional, Ms. Kelly."


End file.
